


Five (5) times Isak was high, and one (1) inappropriate time he wished he was.

by AnonymousPoet



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Domestic Bliss, Drug-Induced Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPoet/pseuds/AnonymousPoet
Summary: Isak feels like he's entering a new, ethereal dimension, where everything is still and the air is just a little bit firmer in his lungs, where the clocks stop and every movement seems slower, heavier, longer. Everything is immensely quiet, and he can almost hear the electricity buzz underneath his skin, inside of his bones, pumping in his veins -mixed to his own, scalding blood.___________________________Five times Isak was high, and one time he wasn't, but he wished he was. Just like the title says.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody: didn't even know whether I wanted to post this or not, but guess at the end I did. So, yeah, here is my little stupid work, combining the two things I love the most: weed and gays. 
> 
> Be nice, English is not my mother tongue.

**(1) – the time with cheese toasties and domestic bliss.**

Even is still there, on Isak's bed, his long legs sprawled in front of him, whilst his back is leaning against the wall: twirling the spliff between his fingers -still red and tingling from the cruel Norwegian winter weather- and exhaling small puffs of greyish smoke from his plush lips, he looks like the portrait of fucking serenity. He takes another long, dragged out hit, arching his neck in the process. He looks beautiful: the blue sweaty sheets pooled around his thighs in a crumpled mess, and his usually styled hair let free in some almost-curls. 

Isak, instead, is rummaging on the floor looking for a sweater to put on that isn't too dirty or soaking wet from the rain that caught them on the way back. (of course, they would have caught a cold if they didn't immediately strip down from all the clothes they were wearing. Of course. And then they deemed necessary to warm each other up. Thoroughly. _Multiple times._ ) 

“Come back to bed” Even whispers, as if it is way too much work to use his vocal chords. A fragile ray of sunlight is filtering through his window, slowly caressing the white expanse of skin on his naked and firm chest, kissing lightly his abdomen. 

“I'm hungry” and apparently that is something so incredibly funny, because his boyfriend on the bed breaks in a warm, deep laugh: one of those who makes him close his eyes shut so that some tiny laugh lines start to form at their corner. “What's so fucking funny about that? I'm starving” And down they go with more laughter -Isak is part of those, though. 

“Nah, you've just got the munchies” 

“I know, and I've just got the perfect thing to satisfy my hunger” he replies, jokingly. Keeping on searching for something to wear (cause really, it's not the best idea to risk flashing Linn his skinny ass) he breaks down in a fit of giggles. 

Even takes another hit.

It's peaceful. 

After some more quiet and relentless searching, Isak realizes two things. Number one: he definitely needs to put some sweaters in the washing machine in the near future, if he wants to avoid going around naked. Number two: he has a boyfriend and what are boyfriends good for, if not to borrow ( _steal_ ) clothes from? So, he picks up Even's hoodie from the chair next to the door, slipping it on in one simple motion and covering all of the goodies. “Two cheese toasties with cardamom coming right up” he then says in a dragged out, distorted English with an extremely strong accent, and adding up a wink for good measure. 

But, when he goes to close the door behind himself (despite how much his boyfriend makes for a pretty picture in his birth suit on the bed, it's a pretty picture reserved to him), he gets called back. “Isak!” Even says, an urgency palpable in his voice, the joint almost burned out in his left hand. 

“What?”

“I've got something else you can eat!”

“Asshole.”

He closes the door, this time, the joyous sound of Even laughing filling up with warm happiness his apartment. And his heart.

 

**(2) - the time with toe-curling, sob-inducing sex**

One, two loud breaths, laced with a precariousness that might just be mistaken for fear, when it's nothing but anticipation instead.

“Fuck, Even, _Fuck_ ” heavy breathing, loud, strangled moans. 

Whimpers. 

Isak feels like he's entering a new, ethereal dimension, where everything is still and the air is just a little bit firmer in his lungs, where the clocks stop and every movement seems slower, heavier, longer. Everything is immensely quiet, and he can almost hear the electricity buzz underneath his skin, inside of his bones, pumping in his veins -mixed to his own, scalding blood. 

Even keeps him right there where he wants him, face down on the pillows, arms outstretched and hands clenching the sheets so hard the knuckles started turning white about five minutes ago, when his boyfriend's tongue was inside him. 

Even grips his hips, bruising him, hurting him just enough to turn him on. He keeps him in place while he thrusts inside is little body, so obscenely open and exposed. The thought of being unveiled and raw, completely revealed for his lover to see, to touch, to hurt in any delicious way he desires, makes his hairs stand up on his arms, and his cock stir up a little bit more.

Even his inside him, around him, everywhere that he can see and touch and smell and _taste._

Even is breaking him _so good_. Even is fucking him fast and hard, letting him forget everything, teasing him just enough to make him whimper, leading him into no man's land, into a placid limbo with fuzzed corners, until he's a withering mess, and his muscles feel like puddles. 

Pre-come is leaking from his untouched dick, his thighs are shaking hard, his fingers twitching. And he is so high, so high. Everything is covered by a thin, weightless layer of dreamlike candlelight, flicking around; his senses are heightened and every nerve in his body is on fire, in this mindless, hedonistic path to sweet perdition.

The sound of skin against skin, the ice-cold tears he's crying, the sobs of complete and utter pleasure that wreck and shake his shoulders. 

“I love you” Even says.

He comes.

 

**(3)- the time with FIFA and great friends**

The tiny room smells funny, like weed and cheese fries and teenage boys. The boys are there, Jonas and Mahdi propped on Jonas' couch with their legs crossed and the eyes planted on the screen in front of them, focused on fiddling with the controller. Magnus instead, in typical Magnus fashion, is gobbling said cheese fries at an impressive speed on the floor, following the game intently: sometimes he even takes a break from his fries to semi-shout a partial commentary of the match. 

“And is GOAAAAALLL!” Magnus affirms, the excitement of the moment leading him to sprinkle cheese dust everywhere. 

“Nah, that's bullshi-”

“Mahdi, man, BOW DOWN TO THE KING!”

“Jonas, you're a fucking cheater, I had the spliff in my hand! It doesn't coun-”

“It totally counts!”

“Yeah, Mahdi, it totally counts!”

“Let's ask Isak!” Three faces suddenly turn in Isak's direction in the same instant (and, if we have to say the truth, it's kinda creepy). But Isak isn't looking at them, he is sprawled on the armchair next to the couch, neck arched, phone in one hand and eyes closed. He is obviously high as a kite, as just someone completely stoned could sleep in the midst of all of that noise. 

Not that the “sleeping” part lasts long, as he gets woken up from a couple dozens of paper balls thrown in his direction by his friends. And it's not important that the paper is nothing but Magnus' last failed physics test. 

“Good morning, sunshine!”

“Rise and shine”

“Wha-” Isak scrambles up, startled, rubbing the sleep off his eyes from his closed fist, taking in his surroundings. 

“Man, can you even take weed anymore?” it's Jonas talking, and behind that joking, teasing tone there an underlying layer of concern. Because they all have noticed the black bags under his eyes, just like when insomnia was haunting his every waking minute.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine” but he wasn't, not really, that slight sense of uneasiness slipping under his skin. 

“You sure?” Mahdi blurts out, eyeing him weirdly. Even his friends aren't that convinced by his weak reassurance. 

“Yeah man, it's just...” Isak trails off, eyes focusing on the window in front of him. He looks out of it from his position, getting nothing but the view of the building in front of the one they are currently in. An old man is watering the plants in his deck, the floor below, a dog is chewing on a bone. 

“Is it Even?” Magnus provides, stuffing a new handful of fries inside his own mouth. 

“Yeah” Isak then admits, fidgeting with his phone. “He's been...manic, the last couple of days. Haven't slept a lot” he confesses, looking down at his lap. The weed makes it easier for him to open up with his friends, to confess his fears and difficulties. “It's always kinda scary, can't sleep that much” little break, he wets his lips with the pink tip of his tongue. “I keep worrying I'll get a call from his mom saying he's at the police station, or the hospital, or...worse”.

That has shut up the boys, who look at him with various degrees of sadness, concern and understanding. 

Magnus is also eating very loudly, so there's that. 

“It will pass, like always” Magnus affirms, knowingly; and it's not comforting at all, because Isak knows what comes after his mania, and then that the cycle repeats itself, and then he doesn't sleep and he doesn't breathe. And he's _tired, and the weed in his blood makes him sad._

So he just nods, picking up the bong from the floor and some weed form the little plastic bag on the side table next to him. 

“The goal totally counted anyways” and just like that they're back to bickering. 

 

**(4) – the time with tears and numbness**

It hurts. In every single inch of his body he feels the numbness tugging at his skin. His chest feels like an empty void, he has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, because this time he cannot run away. 

He looks trough hot tears and blurred vision at the smoke flying up, from the joint between his fingers. The smoke that intertwines, and interlaces, dances up, up, almost caressing the ceiling. His head hurts, spins, he has smoked too much. His mouth feels dry, and his body feels like it's immersed in freezing cold water, his lungs bursting out with scalding heat and painful strain. 

Everything is covered by a slim layer of impossibility. 

People come and go, they knock at their door, try to talk to him, try to drag him out of the self-imposed misery he's suffering through.

Eskild brings him dinner, and leaves it outside the locked door, every night. Every morning, he brings the cold, untouched plate away. 

Jonas bangs loudly on the wood, shouts at him, tells him that he has to please let him in, Isak, please. 

Noora sings to him through the wall.

Even Sana comes about once, probably coaxed into it by Jonas or maybe Eva. She sits down on the floor other side of the door and starts telling him that pain is part of one's life, and he has to learn how to handle it, instead of relying on drugs and tears.

He lets them talk, all of them, he ignores them and takes slow, dragged hits from the first, second, third, sixth spliff. That makes the hurt go away: staying high prevents him from thinking so much, leads him to that beautiful middle ground between perdition and cognition. His eyes are probably red and his hair a mess, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care at all. 

His phone buzzes multiple times with calls and texts messages the first day. After the second day, he decides not to charge it anymore.

It hurts so bad: he feels like he wants to scream out like a burning man, but he's too weak to even try. His head is filled with what seems like cotton but it's just THC, and his heart pumps poison with every beat.

He really wishes he was dead.

Even's left him.

_It hurts._

 

 **(5) the time when the sun was back**

“Halla”

Isak is flabbergasted. 

What did Elias put into this shit, anyway? He can't believe his eyes, he rubs them once or twice just to be sure he isn't dreaming or, more probably, hallucinating. His fingertips pulsate, his heart is beating out of his chest. 

“Halla” he responds, after two seconds of hesitation. He offers the joint in his hands to the boy, the man next to him, without a word, just like they used to do. “What are you doing here?” he continues. And it is a legitimate question, as Even doesn't go to Nissen anymore, he's graduated almost a year ago now, and certainly he didn't think he could find him here. 

“Uh...” Even begins, his eyes fixated on the group of first years in front of them. He isn't looking at Isak, he avoids his gaze. “Do you think...” he starts. Isak doesn't know if it really is the weed that is making his heart beat so fast, or if it's just the familiar sensation of love and Even

_“Do you think in another universe I haven't fucked up the most beautiful thing in my life?"_

 

**(+1) – the inappropriate time.**

 

“God, I need a joint. Jonas. Man of my life, sun of my days and star of my night. Please. I know you must have some somewhere.” Pause. Breathless laugh. “Please man, help a brother out”.

“No way Isak” Jonas replies, laughing and staring at him with that kind of look in his eyes that makes him look like his dad. Eva is straightening his tie and he cannot do this anymore, he's going to freak the fuck out, he needs to chill out before he punches someone. Or cries. Or runs out forever.

“It's fine Isak, don't worry. You don't need to be nervous”.

“Fuck fuck, fuck.”

Jonas lets out another laugh, and he picks up his phone. Then, he speaks to Eva like Isak is not even there, reading a text he just got. “It seems like Even he's not doing much better. Eskild says he's climbing up the walls.”

“Shit, shit, shit”

“It's gonna be FINE.” Eva says once again, smoothing out the jacket of his suit. Anxiety is cursing through his veins. He can't breathe. 

“It's almost time” Jonas says again, and as on cue Eva checks out her watch.

“Oh dear” she says, moving towards the door. “I'm going to go grab my seat. Do not worry, Isak, okay?”

No, it's not fucking okay, he _can't breathe._

He nods.

Once the door closes behind her, he turns towards his best friend once again, carefully. Slowly. “Please?” he asks again. Pleading with his eyes.

“No way, man, you cannot show up high to your own wedding. Besides...it's time to go, now” 

“No, no, no. Shit. I'm not ready” 

It takes a very determined Jonas to drag him out of the room and towards the altar. Once he gets there, though, in front of the man of his life, he's not scared anymore. He feels...kind of high, actually. 

And when he says “I do”, tears streaming down his and his husband's ( _husband!!_ ) cheeks, he realizes something. 

He doesn't need drugs, when he has Even.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not forget to leave a kudos if you liked this, or even a comment. I might post something else, if I feel inspired. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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